We should grab any spark of warmth coming our way, because it could be the only one, in our winter made of solitude, that will bring that flicker of light or the momentarily tawing of the cold...inside.
Perhaps the air in the house is warm, house warm, but I am feeling kind of cold myself.
Outside, the storm is growing from a chilly unnoticeable breeze, which here and there delicately pushed the few snowflakes against the windowpanes from an undecided wind traveling from far away.
First was like small fingers taping on the glass, but it gained momentum until they were a fist that got cold in Siberia and waited all along just to knock a winter call in my morning.
I can’t remember the last time I was alone, utterly alone, expecting nobody and nobody coming, not even by surprise because by habit, no one of the enemies was left back there to be yesterday but never tomorrows nightmare.
The silence surrounding me is not particularly empty of sounds or devoid of humanity; it is only a silence waiting for me before I was born and that I learned to know very well, feeling it, like a cold slab of heavy marble over your naked skin trying to crush your chest.
The uneasy silence in the battlefront that presides the arrival of a bullet, and if you hear the shot…you are granted one more day.
I like the solitude because it reassures me the absence of unfriendly people, the lack of friendly faces; it was never easy making friends nor, after a while, ever wished one.
Looking through the blurred window at the wet world outside I had a feeling of deja-vù.
The window and the storm, only this time not wishing to have a friend. I had not warm to give, just pain.
Everybody remembers pain; pain isn’t there to be forgotten.
The imaginary happiness of making friends doesn’t overweight the pain of losing them, or the betrayal of a fading memory going away with time.
Memories, getting vague with age like postcards forgotten in the back recesses of a deep drawer.
I was told that blood is thicker than water. Can time stops the heart when blood gets too ticker and flows no more?
What if…you dream “that” happy shrill of little voices that aren’t there, just in your wishes, a figment of your imagination, a wild fantasy made of moments gathered from the past, like a collector does, to compose a ménage that only exist in the illusion.
What if…love wasn’t there? Never.
What if…blood isn’t ticker?
What if…the desperate childhood concept of home, family and tender peace pushed us to create a make believe world, ignoring the fact that it was, after all a mirage?
That the past does repeats itself again and again, and our miserable childhood was the training to become a miserable adult?
What if…we wake up tomorrow realizing yesterday never existed?
Cold.
I feel the iced space where my heart used to be, perhaps because I never had one.
Maybe I am lashing out my rage to a life I didn’t like nor did I deserved, without avoiding or knocking down innocent bystanders.
But, whom should I get mad against to?
God?
We are not in speaking terms anymore.
Long ago, we forgot the existence of each other letting the fire to extinguish and the ice to take the place of the embers in the fireplace of our hearts.
I suppose the house is warm despite a hysterical winter rattling my windows like a spoiled little child trying to get attention.
I wish a little one-eye bear were there, in the sill, to chase it away.
I suppose I am not alone surrounded like I am, by the unruly crowd of my thoughts trying to get out from their freezing limbo.
My words will be like a warm tongue, silly getting fast in an iron light pole at the beginning of winter, by spring will come taw.
The fireplace is giving me its black toothless gigantic yawn.
The paper is getting colder, like snow.
Outside the wind is howling with rage, shaking senseless the naked, spotted with dark patches, white birch trees standing side by side, like a Waterloo army ready to resist any attack.
A gray hair felt from my head, I was snowing too.
Cold,
I know you will never feel that inner cold because you will never get any of it from me.
If I may.....great inspiration to share my work on this subject??
"Frozen Love"
Day came with painful clarity
Compressed into a horizontal band of light
The edge of a huge ice sheet
The emptiness of a long bridge
Spanning an ocean without ends
With numb feet and hands I stood
I a frozen shadow
Waiting for the sun!!
I feel the iced space where my heart used to be, perhaps because I never had one.
I think you have one, my friend, because I think our greatest pain usually comes from deep inside our hearts and souls. And you pen chilling pain extremely well in this powerful piece.
A poignant story about letting go of a narcissist in your life. Have you ever been attacked FULL force by a narcissist? It's the closest thing to being stabbed over and over in the back.
A page-turning novel about a relationship between best friends that is interrupted because of betrayal , deceit, sexual promiscuity and pregnancy happens!
